the comic shop around the corner (preview)
HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @kat2609!!!!!!!!! (now it’s your birthday in my time zone!!!) I was hoping to have this done by today, but it’s not *quite* as perfect as you deserve (because you are the absolute best). So here’s a preview and the rest will be done soon!!!
Hope you’re having a FABULOUS day, love!!!
“Seven variants? Bloody hell.”
Today was one of those days that Killian cursed David for talking him into this. Who in their right mind bought a comic book shop? It was one thing to be a reader—to get high on the smell of ink and paper and get lost in a fantastic story in a fantastical realm—but to be the one behind the counter? (Or shelf, or glass case, or storeroom door?) Especially he, Lt. Killian Jones of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy (well, formerly). He was a leader of men and a sailor, not a comic purveyor. This was pure insanity.
It was a good thing he loved it. That, and there were worse places to spend your days than a quaintly named comic shop—The Enchanted Treasury—whose yellow walls, dark-stained wood shelving, and large front windows gave off a cozy vibe somewhere between a Hobbit hole and the Hufflepuff common room.
Normally, it wasn't too bad. Tuesdays were always the most stressful, with having to make room and plan for new stock (and then place it in the early hours of the morning), but thankfully the flow of customers was light. So he could easily stand behind the counter, cursing Marvel out for sending so many different copies of the same damn Star Wars comic (even though it was the only Marvel title he read), and only receive a handful of odd looks—though he was still trying to figure out if those were glares or leers he was getting from Granny, owner of the diner down the street. (Rumor had it she'd harbored a crush on Marco, the previous owner, and it seemed as though that may have transferred to Killian.)
DC never does this, he muttered under his breath as he glanced between the shelf, the inventory list, and the scrap of paper he was plotting on through his thick-rimmed reading glasses, tapping on the glass-topped counter with his prosthetic hook as he thought.
He was thinking to himself how he and David, his best friend/business partner/general thorn in his side, would likely be spending the night on the basement lounge couches usually reserved for gaming nights when the gentle tinkle of the door’s ancient bell indicated a customer. He almost didn’t notice the sound as he planned, but it would have been truly bad form to ignore a visitor.
“Hello there,” he called out, not looking up quite yet because he had just figured out the arrangement and if he didn’t write it down, he’d forget. A quiet, feminine “hi” reached his ears; when he looked up, he wished he had sooner. The afternoon light streaming through the large windows at the front of the store caught the woman’s golden hair and illuminated it in an ethereal manner; he would have used the term “angelic,” but her red leather jacket gave her an edge he found utterly tantalizing.